There are Many Ways To Say Goodbye
by Emerald Olive
Summary: A collection of final chapters to end our beloved Harry Potter series. Pairings will be HG and RHr. Complete!
1. Unscathed

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Only in my wildest dreams. Probably not even then.**

He had emerged from the battle unscathed, with Lord Voldemort gone, never to destroy a life again. He was gone, the one that had controlled their lives, that had influenced everything they did, every choice they made, and every thought that had entered their minds. Gone. Forever.

But though Lord Voldemort was gone and could no longer desire to influence actions, choices or minds, the fact that he had once been able to would never leave those who remembered. And the case was no different for Harry Potter, the hero who had saved them all.

The story of the final battle was a mystery to all those who dared to wonder. No two tall tales would ever be quite the same. It was a favorite legend as well, reenacted by wizened old warlocks over a firewhiskey in the Leaky Cauldron, by mothers chatting animatedly together as they watched their children embark from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and by Hogwarts students of all ages when one had a desire to tell a particularly thrilling tale. But one thing was unwaveringly agreed by all: the famous Harry Potter had emerged unscathed.

However, Harry himself knew otherwise. Yes, he had defeated Lord Voldemort and had come out of the battle standing tall and not having shed a drop of his own blood. But scars were not always visible. He had seen his friends being tortured, unable to interfere, seen the blood that could flow from a person's body, and he had seen death, seen the lights leave the eyes of those he loved. And he had to live with the consequences of that battle, which would haunt him forever. No longer could he enter the Hogwarts castle and remember how happy he used to be; that happiness had been seized from him, and the sadness would always overshadow those blissful memories. No longer could he even look at the photographs, they were cruel reminders of his past, smiling and laughing back at him, unaware of their impending fate.

But he had no other choice but to do it, to kill him. People saw it as bravery, as moral, as heroic; they saw it his duty, his destiny, the burden he had been given the night that he was also given his scar. But it hadn't been any of those things. It had been a hunger for revenge. He wanted to guarantee that the man – no, the thing – no, the murderer who was responsible for his broken life, and the broken lives of many others, paid dearly. And his debt would be paid when he was faced with what he feared the most, death. So now that nothing more could be taken from him, Harry Potter clung to what he had left. He clung to what he had fought so hard to save, the fragments and shards of his broken life. He pieced them together, tenderly and resolutely, knowing full well that once put back together they would never bear even a slight resemblance to the colorful beauty they once displayed.

So the rest of the world continued their lives, safe and content, without a care. But not Harry Potter. He lived in his memories, the happy times that could be no more. And when people looked at Harry Potter, they saw the hero, the one who had saved them, not the tortured soul that the saving had forced him to become. So people thought that he had emerged unscathed, unscathed except for his famous, lightning bolt scar.


	2. It Was a Letter

**A/N: I've been throwing the idea for this story around for a while and I figured now was the best time to really do it. I'm planning on the story consisting of twenty final chapters, one for each day left until the release of Deathly Hallows, though I'm not promising anything. This chapter is one of my favorite ideas. It's a little abstract and a little vague, but I happen to like it a lot. Reviews and suggestions for future chapters are strongly encouraged. Happy reading, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. However, if someone could get me some Polyjuice Potion and one of J.K.Rowling's hairs...then it'd be a different story.**

She hadn't been here in a very long time. Or maybe, it just felt like a very long time. She had entered this house just three weeks ago. Just three weeks. Could that really be all? It felt like three lifetimes. So much had changed. Everything had changed.

The last time she had entered, she had entered alone. She did not want to think about what she had found, or more accurately, what she hadn't found that last time. She had wanted to make sure that he really wasn't there, because it had all just seemed like a bad dream. But she had cried when she hadn't found him. For hours it seemed. But maybe it might have just felt like hours. Everything seemed to last longer now.

Today she entered again. Not alone this time. Today, she was accompanied by a brother, and a friend. But today, he wasn't there to be her brother, and she wasn't there to be her friend. They were all there for themselves, not for each other.

ooo

He was the last to enter the house. He stepped over the threshold after the two girls, one with very thick, bushy brown hair that seemed to have deflated slightly from the way he remembered it, and one with long red hair, the same color as his own, though hers seemed to have lost the glow it once radiated. It felt like such a short time ago that her hair was that vivid color; such a short time ago that her smile had lit up her face.

There were no more smiles. Not even that strained kind of smile that occurs when you really have nothing better to do but to laugh, but you don't feel it. You just do it to occupy yourself, to forget yourself for a moment.

Admittedly, he no longer smiled either. Not that there was nothing to laugh about. He had always believed that if you looked hard enough, there was always something to laugh about. It was just…he no longer had someone to laugh with.

ooo

She was enveloped in darkness as she entered. The bright sunlight outside seemed unable to penetrate the dense shadows of the house. Today she had brought her friends with her. They hadn't been here. They needed to be here. They needed to be at peace with all that had happened.

She was at peace with it. Today she hadn't felt the knot in her stomach rise to her throat as it usually did. She took a moment to remember why that usually happened. For that brief moment she had forgotten. She felt ashamed. Maybe she wasn't at peace with it after all. Maybe she was just becoming estranged from her feelings. She wasn't sure how much she liked that.

Everyday she had come to this house. She would try to busy herself with something or other. Their things were everywhere. His things. Everyday she forced her way through the darkness, the darkness that reeked of death. Or at least, it reeked of what she thought the stench of death would smell like. And with an almighty pang of her heart against her chest she realized what it smelled like. It smelled like him. Again, she felt ashamed.

ooo

The three of them stood, together, but still very much alone, in the house where so many memories had occurred. Alone in the darkness, each was experiencing a rush of memories, all of which included someone who was no longer there.

"We should have been four," someone whispered. It didn't really matter who had said it. They were all thinking the same thing.

ooo

She led the way, the girl with the hair that had lost its glow, up the steep and rickety steps. She heard him, her brother, following. His footsteps were heavier than hers. Two sets of feet climbing up the creaking stairs. She heard him stop and continue down the hallway of the first floor. She didn't even pause to watch him. She kept going, the steps becoming steadily less worn and steadily dustier. Up and up she went, it seemed to take forever, to the very top floor, where the stairs ceased and led to a dark hallway. At the very end of the hallway there was a door. She couldn't see it at the moment, but she knew it was there. She proceeded down the hallway, her tears beginning to flow.

ooo

The second girl, the one who had not followed the first up the steps, turned away before she could watch the brother and sister make their way up. She didn't want to watch them. She didn't want to follow them. She didn't quite know what she wanted.

She had been here day after day, either roaming the rooms, opening and closing doors, or sitting in one place for hours, never moving, just thinking. There was one room she hadn't entered.

She opened the door next to the one that led down to the kitchen. The library. Some people might think she was being silly, going into a library at a time like this. But she didn't want to read anything. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to remember him. She wanted to walk in and see him sitting there, fast asleep, his glasses lopsided, on top of the same book they had been looking through the night before. But, she knew she really wouldn't. It was just a wish she knew would never be granted.

The table in the center of the room was still strewn with the same books they had been through so many times, looking for something, anything that might give them some sort of clue. They had looked in vain for such a long time. There were three chairs around the table. Three. They weren't three any longer.

She shifted the books, looking at the titles she was so familiar with. She soon found what she had subconsciously been looking for. The book with no title or author. This was the book that had fueled the quest, the quest that had taken him from them.

He had found it, she reminisced, as she stroked the battered leather of the cover. It had been very late at night, or very early in the morning, she never could tell which. They had been searching for an explanation of how to destroy the darkest of magic. They had been searching for weeks. And he had found it in this very book. Page 93. She remembered it so clearly.

She opened the book. It opened to the page in question, almost knowingly. But there was something there that wasn't supposed to be there.

It was a letter. It was for her. It was from him.

ooo

He had followed his sister up the stairs. He stopped on the first floor landing, she continued. He watched his little sister climb the creaking steps. She didn't seem to be his little sister anymore. He wanted to protect her from this. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't even protect himself from this. So he turned his back on her and walked away. She had to do this by herself. He had to do this by himself.

He opened the first door on the right. It was a plain room, white walls discolored with age, and a stretch of blank canvas on the wall to the left. Three beds had been squeezed in. It had originally been two, but when they began to use the house as headquarters for their hunt, all had felt more comfortable sleeping in one room. Not that there had been a lot of sleeping. When he looked back on the months they spent in this house, he remembered that they could hardly ever sleep. It was more the need for security, the need to make sure that everyone was still alright.

Well, that need was now nonexistent. Everyone was not alright. Everything would never be alright again.

He stepped in and closed the door. As soon as the last sliver of light from the hallway disappeared behind the door, he felt the overwhelming need to check on his sister and his friend. He dismissed it. It was just the feeling that this room gave him. He used to feel that all the time, the need to check that his friends hadn't left him.

And now that one had left him, he didn't think he would ever be able to shake off the feeling again. He would do anything to prevent that from happening again. He didn't think he could deal with that happening again.

He moved over to the beds and sat on the one in the center, facing his own. This had been his best friend's bed. It wasn't anymore. His best friend wasn't here to use it anymore.

The bed wasn't even made. The sheets were still wrinkled from the last time he, his best friend, had slept in it. He put his head down onto the pillows that were still slightly dented.

It felt as if it couldn't be real. Everything had happened so fast. Everything had collapsed around him so quickly.

He buried his face in the pillows. They still faintly smelled of him. He wanted to vomit. His best friend, he wasn't even eighteen, he was gone. It was sickening.

He shoved his clenched fists under the pillows. They rested on top of something flat and scratchy. He pulled it out.

It was a letter. It was for him. It was from his best friend.

ooo

She opened the door to the bedroom at the very end of the hallway at the very top of the house. She had only been in this room once before, the day when everything was going wrong and then righted itself before her eyes. She slid down to the floor with her head on her knees, the tears flowing freely, and she allowed herself to relive the memory…

That day had not been very long ago, though it felt like it had. It had only been a few days before the last time she entered this house and hadn't found him. That day was the last time she saw him.

It had been just after term ended. She had been at home, in the kitchen, when the three of them, the inseparable trio, had knocked frantically on the door. She didn't even bother with the questions, she had just wrenched open the door to see them all standing there. She had hugged them all so tightly. She hadn't seen them in such a long time.

She remembered being so worried about them that day. When they walked in, she remembered beaming, smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt. She remembered doing it, but she couldn't remember how to smile like that anymore. She hadn't smiled like that in such a long, long time. But then again, maybe it just felt like a long time.

He had kissed her. She had kissed him back. He had loved her. She loved him.

He had wanted to be alone with her. She obliged. They used the Floo Network to get to this house, the one she was in now. He had grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs, the same stairs that she had so determinedly climbed today, alone. Today it had felt like they went on forever. When she had been with him she hadn't even noticed.

Together, they had entered this very room. But today when she entered it, she didn't even feel like the same person that had entered it on that day so long ago. She corrected herself: it only felt like a long time ago.

She kissed him again. They kissed for a long time. She had wanted nothing more than to be with him. They had melted into each other, becoming one. That feeling had not yet left her. They were part of each other. He was gone, and with him went a part of her.

They were together for a long time that day. He had needed her. They talked for a long time after that. He had told her that they had destroyed all the horcruxes, and that he had wanted to see her and to be with her. He told her that he didn't want to die without being with her. She should have been scared then, but she wasn't. She was so happy that day. He had told her that he loved her. He had told her that if he died he didn't want her to cry…

But she didn't know how not to cry. And the tears came down faster when she remembered that this wasn't what he'd wanted.

The clothes he had worn that day so long ago were still lying crumpled on the floor next to her. She reached out and grabbed the leg of his pair of jeans. She played with the frayed bottoms until one of her tears fell onto them. He hadn't wanted her to cry. She took the jeans and smoothed them out in front of her. She missed him. She missed him so very much.

One of the back pockets, the one he used to keep his wand in, was bulging. She reached in and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

It was a letter. It was for her. It was from him.

ooo

In the library, the girl with the bushy brown hair neatly folded up her letter with trembling fingers. She slipped it into her pocket and exited the room. She was done with this house, she was finished opening and closing doors. She was at peace. She was ready to leave.

She made her way up the staircase, past the elf heads, and down the first floor hallway. She knocked on the first door to the right.

"I'm ready to leave."

ooo

As soon as he heard her knock he folded his own letter and put it in his back pocket with his wand. He opened the door to see his friend. He hugged her tightly. She hugged him back. He wasn't ever letting her get away.

"I'm ready too," he told her. He took hold of her hand and led her up the stairs to the top floor.

He knocked on the door at the end of the hallway.

"We're ready to leave. We'll wait for you right here"

ooo

She heard the knock. She put away her letter. She didn't want them to see it. She slipped it into her own back pocket, and left his pair of jeans on the floor. She opened the door to see her brother and her friend.

"I'm ready."

She took her brother's hand that had been extended to her.

She smiled as she led the way down the stairs.

ooo

The three that should have been four made their way down the steps into the entrance hall. They each knew that they wouldn't be coming back here for a long time. In the letter each secretly held in their pocket, they had all they needed to forever remember someone that was loved by them all, the boy with jet-black hair, emerald eyes and a lightning bolt scar.


	3. Not Quite a Fairy Tale

**A/N: Something very (ahem…extremely) fluffy after the very angst-filled previous chapters. Please review. Suggestions for future chapters are very welcome, and will be greeted with everlasting thanks. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. However, I do wish that I did. Now you all know what to get me next Christmas. **

Usually a fairy tale ends with a happily ever after. The beautiful princess is whisked away by her handsome prince, and together they go to live in a far away castle. But this story is not quite a fairy tale. In this story, happily ever after is only the beginning.

Usually in a fairy tale, good triumphs over evil. The valiant hero saves the people of his village, and the wicked witch or evil wizard is gone forevermore. And in that respect, this story is quite similar to a fairy tale.

The hero of this story is a young man who is loved by many, known by the name of Harry Potter.

The villain of this story is an evil wizard who was feared by all, known by the name of Lord Voldemort.

There is a hero, and there is a villain, but what must be remembered, as stated before, is that this story is not quite a fairy tale. Harry Potter does indeed defeat Lord Voldemort. But he does not go frolicking through the luscious green English countryside on a little white pony with his beautiful princess for the rest of his life. Oh, my dear goodness, no.

Though there is, undeniably, a beautiful girl who is the object of Harry Potter's affection. She is, however, not remotely close to being a princess. This girl is named Ginny Weasley, and though she is very beautiful, with long red hair and deep brown eyes, get on the wrong side of her and you will find yourself on the receiving end of an extremely powerful Bat Bogey Hex.

After the fall of Lord Voldemort, if this were a fairy tale (which it isn't), there would probably be many pretty birds flying around, a number of heated, passionate kisses, a few feasts, a couple of frogs turned into princes, and of course, one very large musical number in which every character sings and dances to much farther than their heart's content.

But this is, as you are again reminded, not quite a fairy tale, and the fall of Lord Voldemort is not as joyous of an occasion as it would be if it were. Instead, the fall of Lord Voldemort is bittersweet for all, for many have been lost in the fight. Friends, family, and friends who were like family were lost. But what Harry Potter had come to realize was that to not go out and enjoy the world they gave their lives to save would be letting them die in vain. And nobody wants to have that on their conscience.

So for a while, the people of the Wizarding community mourned. But when everybody else soon came to the same conclusion as our hero, everything righted itself at once. And so begins our happily ever after.

Harry Potter had been in love with Ginny Weasley for quite a long time, and after Lord Voldemort had finally been vanquished, he proposed to her, and she accepted. Ginny Weasley was the sister of Harry Potter's best friend, Ron Weasley. True, at first Ron had not been too keen on the idea of his little sister being married to his best friend, but he came around eventually, with much help from his own bride-to-be, Harry Potter's other best friend, Hermione Granger.

Now, many people who knew Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, including Harry Potter himself, would tell you firsthand that they were the two least likely people to ever wind up married to each other. But that just goes to show everyone that you really never can tell with these sorts of things.

This acclaimed quartet had been through practically everything together, and they knew that the rest of their lives would end up being no different. Together they were married, became Aurors, and worked tirelessly to catch all of the remaining supporters of Lord Voldemort. And of course, had babies. Lots of babies.

But the happily ever after life was not reserved solely for Harry Potter and his three best friends. Quite the contrary. For, like all good fairy tales, all of our other favorite characters also went on to live wonderfully wonderful lives.

Remus Lupin, everyone's favorite Marauder and werewolf resumed his position as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was soon married to Nymphadora Tonks, everyone's favorite Auror and Metamorphagus.

Neville Longbottom joined Remus Lupin at Hogwarts School to teach Herbology when the much loved Professor Sprout retired after a particularly traumatizing accident that involved a Mandrake, a Chinese Chomping Cabbage and a Fanged Geranium.

Luna Lovegood became the first person to prove the existence of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, capturing one and donating it to the Newt Scamander Zoo of Rare Magical Creatures. Her next expedition will involve gathering evidence to prove the existence of the Wrackspurt.

Severus Snape was discovered to be completely loyal to Dumbledore, and continued to work for the Order of the Phoenix even after the death of the celebrated Headmaster.

But sadly, as you are again reminded, this story is not quite a fairy tale, and therefore, nothing will ever be perfect. People will always have worries and troubles and faults. Remus Lupin will always be a werewolf, no matter how many times he brews the Wolfsbane Potion. Severus Snape will never be a nice person, no matter how many times he pledges his loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione Granger will always be intolerably intelligent, no matter how many of her old school books Ron attempts to throw into the fire. And Harry Potter will always, no matter how much he changes throughout his happily ever after, have a lightening bolt scar.


	4. Ancient Magic

**A/N: This chapter does not end in scar, but I happen to like it a whole lot. It's probably my favorite. This is my idea of what the symbol on the spine of the UK Children's Deathly Hallows represents. Hope you enjoy! And please review!! Suggestions for future chapters are appreciated. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own two sets of Harry Potter books…but I hardly think that qualifies. **

There is a branch of ancient magic which is known by very few, for it occurs under immensely specific circumstances. The result of this extraordinary phenomenon is that the power of the spell being cast is increased by a hundredfold; no Shield Charm or any other protective spell or object will stand a chance against something this immensely powerful.

The conditions are quite unusual and there are only two recorded occurrences of this particular branch of ancient magic. Every wand has a certain level of compatibility with other wands. Brother wands, or wands with cores that come from the same magical creature, have no compatibility with each other, and when spells from such wands combine, the Priori Incantatem Effect is produced, an effect that is not unlike the one that is being spoken of: the Pectovis Explesum Effect. Pectovis Explesum is the opposite of Priori Incantatem, and in order to take place, three wands, each containing one of the three major wand cores, one Phoenix feather, one Unicorn hair, and one Dragon heartstring, must cast the same spell at the same time, and aimed at the same person or thing. But the circumstances are more specific still. Not only do the three wands need to contain the three different cores, but the wands must also complete each other, something that is not as easy to determine. The wand chooses the wizard, and for wands to be completely compatible, and therefore capable of causing the Pectovis Explesum Effect, they must choose each other, as well as choosing wizards who will also choose each other. In other words, the wands, as well as the wizards, have qualities that add together to create something that is both whole, and powerfully magical.

The two recorded occurrences of the Pectovis Explesum Effect were both performed by the same three wands. The first instance was an accident, performed with a harmless spell, cast by three underage wizards, and not recognized for what it truly was until a number of years later. But the second was performed with full knowledge of what was about to happen, and with the intent to produce a spell that was powerful beyond measure.

The three wands in question belong to two wizards and a witch, together sometimes known as "The Golden Trio", but otherwise known as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

The first accidental incident consisted of three _Expelliarmus_ spells, cast upon Professor Severus Snape in the Shrieking Shack during latter part of the trio's third year. They, of course, didn't think anything of such a powerful disarming spell. The impact made the whole house shake, and sent Professor Snape's wand through the air and across the room before the teacher was thrown into the wall and left unconscious for two hours, all from a simple disarming spell that is merely supposed to part the wand from its owner…

Being ignorant and thirteen, they had no reason to suspect that anything unusual had happened, and indeed, it did seem as if nothing had. The spell performed did not require much magical ability and the casters themselves had not yet achieved their full magical potential, so the effect did not occur properly, but only created an immensely powerful spell. One person did realize that something unusual had happened, even if he didn't realize exactly what it was; his name was Remus Lupin. But he did not draw attention to the matter. He quickly put it in the back of his mind, for there were much more pressing matters to deal with that night…

With all the mayhem and the commotion of the months and years to follow, with a war steadily approaching, it had seemed that Remus Lupin had dismissed this shred of a suspicion of an unusual occurrence. Until, that is, the fateful day when Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned up on his doorstep.

The trio was being shuffled from house to house, to keep their whereabouts secret and haphazard, so as to make it difficult for Death Eaters that might be following them. Members of the Order were never told when to expect them, just to let them stay for as long as they needed whenever they called.

Remus heard the doorbell, hastened to open the door and quickly ushered them inside the small house he had been renting outside London. The three of them were shivering from the cold outside, but all had triumphant smiles painted across their faces. He gazed questioningly at them waiting for an explanation, and Harry held up a heavy golden locket by its chain. The locket was hanging open on its hinges, oddly lopsided, exposing the empty spaces where photos are usually placed. As it rotated slowly he noticed a serpentine "S" encrusted with emeralds. The last Horcrux had been destroyed.

A smile plastered itself across Remus Lupin's face as well. Lord Voldemort was no longer invincible. They were closer than they had ever been to defeating him once and for all. They were closer than they had ever been to saving the world. But Remus knew that this happiness was soon to be punctured by the realization that they would soon have to wage war against Lord Voldemort himself, not the pieces of his soul, but his actual being. And that was something that scared him, a grown man who had lived through two wars, down to his very bones. There was no certainty of living through a duel with Lord Voldemort. But that was not something to be thinking about right now. Now was the time for a little, much needed celebration.

However, celebrations with a crowd of people were not advised at such a time of danger. So instead the four of them whipped up a nice dinner and ate together, laughing and discussing carefree things, for the time when they could do such things was rapidly drawing to a close.

ooo

The trio stayed with Remus Lupin for a much longer time than they had stayed anywhere else. They needed to do research, and there was no better place to do it than in the house of a former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who owned an extremely large quantity of worn and threadbare, but extremely useful books. One wall of the sitting room was covered, floor to ceiling, in an old-fashioned wooden bookcase. There were books everywhere; they were stacked on top of each other, three rows deep, and even in the spaces between the tops of other books and the shelf above. And there were still more shoved unceremoniously into boxes and trunks that could be found all over the house.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with Hermione as the leader of the hunt of course, would read through any book they could get their hands on for any quantity of information that might be even the least bit helpful when they went up against Lord Voldemort. Remus would sometimes help them search through his books, but they seemed to work better with just each other, and he resorted to pointing out books that he thought might be of help. Slowly he watched them, well, what he could see of them behind the mountains of tattered books, getting more and more restless at the lack of practical information.

One day he was sitting with them while drinking his coffee, watching their heads bob in and out of the sea of pages. He liked having them in the house. It made things not as lonely as they usually were. It was very early in the morning; the sun had not even properly risen yet. Harry and Hermione were still pouring through old books with bloodshot eyes. Ron was asleep on top of a pile of four very thick volumes.

"We need something different. Something other than a spell or a curse," Hermione said in a frantically exasperated voice to Harry through a small gap in two large, teetering piles of books. Ron's eyes opened groggily at her words.

"But what else is there?" Harry answered as he slammed the volume he was reading closed and added to the top of one of the mountains.

A memory clicked into place in Remus Lupin's mind, "I have a hunch…something I remember from a long time ago…" he said cautiously as got up from his armchair, put his coffee on top of one of the mounds of books, and looked at the three of them. All three pairs of eyes were rapt with attention.

"Something…maybe…possibly…something with wands…" he muttered as his eyes spanned the length of his bookcase, his memory of that night in the Shrieking Shack playing itself over and over in his head.

"Something like Priori Incantatem?" Harry asked quietly.

All their heads turned to look at Harry.

Hermione looked confused as she looked between Harry and Remus, "What's Priori Incantatem?"

Ron goggled at her, "You don't know what that is?! Mind you, I don't know what it is either…but I thought _you_ knew _everything_."

Remus looked confused as well, "Harry, how do you know about Priori Incantatem? I'm sure you would have never learned about that school…"

"We certainly did not learn about it in school," said Hermione indignantly.

"It happened to me," Harry continued slowly, "It happened between my wand and Voldemort's, the night he came back. Both of our wands have the same core, a Phoenix tail feather. The feathers both came from Fawkes..."

Remus's mind began clinking into action.

"Well, Priori Incantatem happened, and instead of our spells deflecting each other, they sort of connected and—"

"Your wand has a Phoenix feather core, Harry?" Remus asked.

"Yes."

"And yours Hermione? What's the core of your wand?" Remus inquired.

"Dragon heartstring. But that really has nothing to do with—"

"And Ron?" Remus questioned excitedly.

"Unicorn hair. But Professor Lupin, _why_ does this even—"

"Oh, where is it? Where is it? I bought it such a long time ago…" Remus began to himself as he searched the enormous bookcase.

"You see," he began, addressing the trio while still searching earnestly; "There's something…sort of the opposite of Priori Incantatem. Instead of the wands connecting to create the Reverse Spell Effect, they sort of join together to form one incredibly powerful spell. But, it has nothing to do with having the_ same_ wand core of course, it has to do with having different ones…ones that complete each other. You need one of each of the three major wand cores and the wands have to be compatible. And in less I'm very much mistaken you three have already made it happen once.

"You remember at the end of your third year, during our time in the Shrieking Shack, when Professor Snape intruded and all three of you felt the need to disarm him?" he asked, turning around to look at them.

They all nodded slowly, not knowing where this was going.

"Well, didn't you ever stop to think that it might have been odd that a simple disarming charm, cast by three teenagers, caused Professor Snape to be thrown against the wall and remain unconscious for two whole hours?"

The trio glanced at each other curiously.

"Oh, where is it? Where is it?! I know it must be here somewhere…"

"What are you looking for Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked, getting up to aid him in his search. She now knew the shelves almost as well as he did.

"I forget what it was called, _Anicent Magick of Wands_, or _Magick Wands Most Ancient_, something along those lines. I bought it such a long time ago…Aha!" he said as he pulled one book off the shelf to get a better look at the rows of books behind it, "Here it is. It was written by the original Ollivander, the one who opened the shop in Diagon Alley. It took me ages to find a copy…"

He flicked through the pages as the trio watched him with bated breath. At the very center of the book was a large diagram of what seemed to be a triangle, with a circle inside of it.

"Yes, here it is. The Pectovis Explesum Effect. When three wands, one of each core, choose each other and become completely compatible, and they cast the same spell, at the same time, aiming at the same target, the power of the spell will reach an alarming height," he paused to look at the shocked faces of the trio, "This is, I believe, what happened when you attacked Professor Snape that night in the Shrieking Shack. But as you were not yet fully qualified wizards, and the spell that was being cast was not an incredibly difficult one, only the power of the spell increased, the actual Pectovis Explesum Effect, depicted in this diagram, did not occur. It was only a lesser variation of it…"

"So you're saying," began Ron, looking frightened and determined at the same time, "That if we all cast _Avada Kedavra _at Voldemort, at the same time, this Perctoris Explainesum—"

"Pectovis Explesum, Ron," chimed Hermione with annoyance.

"Yes, that, well that will happen and Voldemort will be reduced to dust or something like that?"

"But why would we even need this effect to defeat him," asked Hermione reasonably, "surely one good Killing Curse alone would do the job…"

"I don't think one curse would be enough, though, Hermione," Harry said seriously, "If Voldemort is so afraid of death, I think he'll hold on as long as possible. He's unbelievably powerful. I think that if he really wanted to, he'd be able to survive one good Killing Curse. But if Pectovis Explesum really can occur between our wands, and create a Killing Curse of colossal power, I think there would be no way he could survive it."

ooo

And so the final battle had dawned upon the Wizarding World. Deep underground, in the tunnels and caves of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the true battle between good and evil was about to take place.

It now seemed to Harry, Ron, and Hermione that whatever had occurred before this moment had passed in a haze of curses and jinxes, deflected spells, and falling bodies. Now it was the three of them, alone, against Lord Voldemort himself. He was laughing at them, that cold, high-pitched laugh that made the hairs on the back of you neck stand up and your arms erupt in goosebumps. But they knew what they had to do. For the first time, it was their side that had a plan.

And they were dueling, each member of the trio standing at a different end of the cave, Lord Voldemort in the center, taunting them each in turn. All three could feel the tempers rising, the anger bubbling to the surface, but they had to keep going until they thought they would explode from the pressure. It was the only way to guarantee that the Killing Curse would be successful.

Suddenly Lord Voldemort stopped sending spells at them, and they stopped sending them at him. They watched him rotate slowly on the spot, taking in each of them in turn.

"You do know I'm going to kill you, don't you?" A smirk slid its way onto Lord Voldemort's face, giving him an even more maniacal look than ever before, "First I shall take the Mudblood," he said turning towards Hermione, his back facing Harry and Ron. Her cheek was bleeding, and her robes were torn, but she stood her ground. He turned away to look at Harry and Ron, his back to Hermione now. "And you two will watch as I do it. Then," he turned toward Ron, whose face was dirty with a mixture of grime and blood, "I shall take the boy, the pureblood traitor, Harry Potter's best friend" As he said this he turned to face Harry, glasses broken and scar burning. "And you, Harry Potter, you will watch as I torture and kill your best friends, and then, I will kill you," he finished, his cold laughter echoing around the walls of the underground cave.

And that was when it happened. All three drew their wands to the level of where Lord Voldemort's heart should be and shouted "_Avada Kedavra_!" He stopped laughing, but the hair raising laughter continued to echo, mixing cacophonously with their own shouts, fueling the curse that each member of the trio was casting. But the curses did not collide with their target. Instead, as though some invisible, spherical barrier was placed around Voldemort, the jets of green light strayed off course and formed a circle of eerily glowing green light, growing brighter and brighter as the three curses combined. But the green light kept pouring out of each of the three wands, a continuous supply, feeding the circle, and making each wand vibrate. Suddenly, the light that connected each of the wands to the circle split into two and moved away from each other, the angle between each pair of lights growing steadily larger until each light connected with the one of its neighbor. Harry's left jet of light connected with Hermione's right, Hermione's left connected with Ron's right, and Ron's left connected with Harry's right, forming a triangle that surrounded the circle of glowing green light that illuminated the cave.

Lord Voldemort was looking around at the three of them, stunned senseless, watching the curse grow steadily stronger around him.

Then, at the exact same moment, each of the three wands produced two spheres of what could only be pure power. Each wand produced different colored spheres. The spheres emitted from Harry's wand were red, Hermione's were black and Ron's were white. They glanced at each other; they hadn't expected this to happen.

But Harry, who had experienced something similar with Priori Incantatem, thought he knew what was going on.

"Push them towards me!" Harry exclaimed. It was getting harder and harder to hold on to his vibrating wand, but he knew that he had to. The two red spheres ricocheted off in two different directions, as did the two black ones from Hermione's wand, and the two white ones from Ron's. One red sphere collided with a black sphere at the same time as the other red sphere collided with a white one. When they collided they spun around the glowing green path like corkscrews traveling in opposite directions before they again came into contact with the green light. Hermione's and Ron's spheres made contact with Harry's wand while the red spheres continued along the triangular pathway, one changing course as it hit Hermione's wand, the other changing its course at Ron's. The remaining black and white spheres crossed each other and proceeded along the circle before they made contact with Harry's wand as well. The red spheres that had changed direction collided across from Harry, directly in the center of the line connected Ron and Hermione's wands. They too branched off from the path of green light to form an alternate, corkscrew path before they continued to opposite points of the circle, changing course at the two points of the triangle and continuing until they finally made contact with Harry's wand as well.

All six spheres were now connected to Harry's wand, one black, one red, and one white, on each of the two jets of green light. His wand was vibrating so hard and he was holding on so tightly that he felt his fingers growing numb.

Lord Voldemort turned to face him, his laughter still echoing indistinctly around the cave. They glared at each other, Voldemort surrounded by a Killing Curse more powerful than he could ever imagine himself conjuring, and Harry with the upper hand at last.

Lord Voldemort laughed for the last time. He laughed his high, cold, heartless laugh that had plagued Harry's dreams for years and years. The laugh that made Harry Potter push the spheres toward their target, moving at lightening speed and melting together to radiate the brightest green light they had ever seen. The thick jet of vivid green passed through Lord Voldemort as though he were not even there, and collided with the point directly across from Harry where the triangle and circle met, the same point where his two red spheres had met and collided…

And while his laughs echoed sinisterly around the cave, Lord Voldemort was reduced to nothing more than a pile of dust. The vivid green light glowed dazzlingly as the light stopped pouring from the three wands, and then slowly faded, leaving the Golden Trio alone in the cave, with nothing except the reverberating cackles of the now vanquished Lord Voldemort.


	5. To Kiss a Broken Soul

**A/N: I don't love this chapter as much as I do some of the other ones. But I always wondered about the connection between Lord Voldemort and the Dementors, each with the underlying theme of souls. Please, please, please review! I'm going to run out of ideas soon...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I only like to play around a bit...I finished with Barbie ages ago.**

The battle was upon them. In the freezing fortress of Azkaban, members of the Order of the Phoenix were in the process winning the most important victory against the Death Eaters they had scraped in a very long time. This particular battle was not only the most important; it would also, hopefully, be the last.

Far away from where the majority of the battle was taking place, on the opposite side of the small island located in the very heart of the North Sea on which the Azkaban Fortress is located, were the two leaders, Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. They were fighting each other alone, leaving their forces to fight amongst themselves. The aim of each leader was to destroy the other, for each had been obsessed with killing their opponent for a very long time. Either must die at the hand of the other. In the end, one will have to kill the other. Neither can live while the other survives. One cannot live a truly fulfilling life if he is entirely fixated on the demise of another.

The duel between leaders had begun. The Order of the Phoenix was indeed winning against the Death Eaters. But that did not guarantee that the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry Potter, was winning also. On the other hand entirely, while the Order seemed to be securing a victory, Lord Voldemort was advancing, closer to triumphing over Harry Potter than ever before.

The whole of the small island was surrounded by Dementors, and this was doing nothing to aid the Order of the Phoenix, especially since most of the Death Eaters did not seem to be affected by them. But the presence of these rotting, eerie creatures was beginning to affect Harry Potter in a more pronounced way than he had ever been affected by them before. Slowly, they were closing in on the battle between Lord Voldemort and himself, growing closer and closer and closer, and he felt as if he didn't have the strength to fight off the feeling of hopelessness they instilled in him. The last time he had come into contact with Dementors there had been only two of them, and since then, his list of disturbing memories had reached an alarming length. What with the visions of Sirius falling through the veil and of Dumbledore plummeting from the Astronomy Tower on top of the memories of the night his parents died and the night he watched Cedric die and Voldemort return, he did not seem to be able to cast away the images and focus on what was in front of him. And every time he stumbled, Lord Voldemort was sure to take advantage.

He could hear Lord Voldemort's merciless, icy laugh. He didn't know if it was in his mind or if it was really happening right in front of him. The difference was now indistinguishable; the two realms had fused. But he could feel the Dementors drawing ever closer, feasting on his wealth of horrifying memories, draining him of all hope and happiness. But through the freezing haze he could vaguely see them, and he could feel them, approaching. And now he could tell that Lord Voldemort was not laughing inside his head. His vision swam in and out of focus, the Dementors drawing ever nearer…

He didn't know where Ron or Hermione were…They could be anywhere…He just didn't know. He felt the numbness of his legs creep upwards to his stomach. He was surrounded by Inferi in the cave glowing green…He was watching a man rise out of a gigantic stone cauldron…There was a flash of green light mixed with the cackling laughter of Lord Voldemort and the screams of his mother…He was in the Chamber of Secrets looking down at Ginny's almost lifeless body…Ginny…she was waiting for him…

The sight of Dementors surrounding himself and Voldemort was clear and crisp again. There were too many of them to count, hovering inches above the ground, some over the frozen water, their rotting hands reaching out, as if they wanted to touch him…

But Ginny was waiting for him. He couldn't give up. She was waiting for him.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

A silvery white stag erupted with such force from his wand that he was almost thrown backwards. The Dementors fled, flinching at his Patronus, they retreated. He could no longer see them.

He collapsed onto his knees, exhausted, but he knew what he would see when he lifted his head. He could never escape him.

Lord Voldemort was standing in front of him, towering above him like some sort of evil, malevolent God of Darkness. The laughter had left his face. There was only pure malice in his blood red eyes.

"Very good, Harry Potter. Quite a display of impressive magic you are performing for me, isn't it? A Patronus. I never did find the need to ever produce one myself…Pointless thing really…A force made of hope and happiness…" Voldemort said in a hissing whisper.

He got up from the ground. Voldemort still towered over him, the red eyes flashing hungrily at him. But if he died, he would die like a man, with his head held high and his wand out. He would die fighting for Ginny.

"So, now we are all alone. Just myself, and the little boy who it was foretold would be my downfall," a smile played itself across Lord Voldemort's face. His features seem to secrete a burning desire to kill. "Don't you see how very wrong they all were, Harry Potter? Oh, you will fight me. You will _try_. I see it in your eyes, in your stature. But you will not win."

Harry felt the Dementors drawing nearer again.

Lord Voldemort looked into his eyes. Harry quickly turned away. He would not let Voldemort invade his mind.

"You cannot win."

"I WILL!" Harry shouted his temper flaring, daring to look into Lord Voldemort's slit-like red eyes.

Lord Voldemort broke the eye contact and laughed his unforgiving laugh.

"You cannot."

"I will," said Harry softly, his fear continuing to mount with every word, "I know what you've done. You're not immortal anymore."

"Nobody knows of the extent to which I have gone to make myself immortal, Harry Potter."

"YOU SPLIT YOUR SOUL!" Harry shouted.

"YOU CANNOT WIN!" Lord Voldemort repeated forcefully while his eyes revealed a flash of red.

"The diary? It's gone! But I suppose you knew about that, didn't you?" Harry taunted, "The ring? Marvolo's ring? Destroyed! With a great ugly crack through the stone! Hufflepuff's Cup? The one that you murdered for and stole? Reduced to dust! Gryffindor's sword? No more piece of your soul concealed in there!" Harry stopped to catch his breath and to admire the effect of his words on Voldemort. He looked livid. And frightened. He could see the Dementors returning.

It was Harry's turn to laugh, "Nagini? Didn't you ever wonder what happened to your great, dirty snake? Dead! And the locket?" Harry pulled at the heavy, golden locket that hung around his neck so that the chain broke, and he held it up for Voldemort to see. It rotated dangerously, hanging open on its hinges.

"You are _not_ immortal."

Lord Voldemort was looking at Harry as though he had never seen him properly.

The Dementors were surrounding them again, as though they had come back to watch the struggle.

The thought of defeating Lord Voldemort was filling him up so completely that he only realized they were closing in once more when he felt the coldness in the air. He didn't hear the screams. He didn't see the flashes of bright green light.

The Dementors weren't approaching him. If they had faces, Harry knew they would be fixing Voldemort with the very same look Voldemort was fixing him. Harry watched, as though he could see it with his own eyes, the memories of Lord Voldemort come to the surface of his mind, one man that would seem to be positively a feast to a group of Dementors. They were feeding off of him…not Harry. They were drawing closer and closer…

Lord Voldemort could not produce a Patronus. He did not have a memory happy enough to even attempt it. He could not ward them off when he was so vulnerable…

"A broken soul must be a lot easier to suck out through your mouth, don't you think?" asked Harry with the most casual air he could manage with hundreds of Dementors around him. His head was swimming slightly again.

A Dementor lowered its hood and reached out to place its hands lovingly around Voldemort's white throat. It lowered its head, or where its head should have been to Lord Voldemort's mouth.

And Harry watched as the seventh and final piece of Lord Voldemort's soul was ripped from his body, leaving it quite empty, but still whole and intact, with not even a scar.


	6. Never Let Her Go

**A/N: My friend came up with this idea, and I liked it a lot. A little link between Lily and Ginny. I think it's interesting, so I couldn't wait to write a final chapter about it. Please review!! Suggestions for future chapters will always be welcome. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If only, if only!**

I promised myself that I would never let her go. I told myself, over and over, that no matter how much danger I got myself into, she would always be there. I promised her that I would never abandon her. I told her, over and over, she could never come with me, because she always had to be there.

I was selfish, really, patronizing and egotistical and obstinate. I realize how wrong I was now. I realize that I should have done more. Or maybe I should have done less. But I know that I did something wrong. Because now, now she's not there. She's not here. She's not with me. And she's not there because of me. But I still need her. I still can't abandon her. I still will never let her go.

I used to try so hard to protect her. I would do anything, _anything_, to keep her safe. I pushed her away, trying to protect her. But she didn't need protecting. She was stronger than I gave her credit for. She was stronger than I was. In the end, I was the one who needed to be protected.

I think about that night all the time. It never leaves my mind, even if it's only stuck in the subconscious part for a while. It always returns to the surface. It plagues my dreams and waking hours alike. And I blame myself, I really do, and not because I feel a little guilty. I blame myself because it's my fault. And everyone knows it. And when they look at me, I know they haven't forgotten either.

But I've learned to admire her. Even though she did exactly what I told her not to do, I've got to look back, and remember, and cry, while knowing that she followed her heart. I was her heart. And she was mine. But I never followed my heart. I pushed it away. I pushed it far, far away so that nobody could take it from me. I pushed it away, thinking that I was keeping it safe, thinking that I could shield it from being broken, thinking that once this tragedy was over I could unearth it, and it would be intact and unbroken. What I didn't realize was that I might not have been able to find it again.

But she followed me. And I guess she knew what I was trying to do, but she refused to let it happen. She was the only one who could protect me. She had this way of knowing whenever something was wrong. Even if I didn't tell her, even if I hadn't seen her, or spoken to her, or been in contact with her at all, she always knew when something was wrong, she always knew when I was in danger. And she always followed.

And I can't stop thinking about her. I haven't stopped, and I don't think I ever will. I loved her. I still love her.

When I sleep, she dances in and out of my dreams. I'm always chasing her, chasing her long red hair. She'll turn around to look at me, a smile lighting up her eyes, and then she'll disappear. I never catch her. I chase her, and I chase her, but she's always just beyond my grasp, always lurking just around the corner…

When she disappears, she leaves me alone in the dark, and I turn around calling her name, looking everywhere, but I can't see a thing. The scene changes and I'm still calling her name, but now she's running towards me, and I'm pushing her away. I'm on the ground, and I'm watching her dance, in and out of my vision, clear and then vague. I'm trying, trying, trying_ so hard_, to protect her…but now she's standing in front of me. Two flashing red, slit-like eyes are looking at me over her shoulder. But I can't move. She's protecting me.

Those eyes, they only want me. The red eyes, they're bulging with desire. She's standing between us. She's standing in front of something she won't allow those eyes to have. But the eyes, they only want me. Those cold eyes filled with fire, they only want me. But she's protecting me. She won't let me go.

The high, cold laugh echoes in my ears as the shadow of a flash of green light glimmers across my memory, both are indistinct. The only thing I remember, and I remember it vividly, is watching her fall. She falls and I catch her. I only catch her when she falls, never when I chase her. But now I'm holding her, and I'm crying and I'm yelling and I'm holding her tightly. It's all a blur after that. Dark figures obstructed by haze, and blinding flashes of light. But I never let her go. I promised her I wouldn't.

He's laughing again. But it's only an echo. My senses and reflexes both seem to have evaporated. I look around wildly, forgetting where I am. And I see those eyes, hungry, eager eyes, flashing and boring into my own.

And I'm still holding her. I'll never let her go.

There's light everywhere, blinding flashes of bright green light.

And that's when I wake up. I wake up knowing that I'll only ever see her in my dreams. I wake up sweating and shivering, my eyes wide, with my scar burning so intensely I feel like it'll leave an imprint on my skull.

I still haven't let her go. I made a promise to myself, and to her, and I'll keep it. I was willing to give up everything to keep her safe, and in the end she gave up everything for me. I'll never let her go.

My scar prickles and sends an involuntary shudder through my body.

It's still the same scar. Two sacrifices. One scar.


	7. A Recurring Tale

**A/N: Something I thought of while writing the last chapter. Please review your favorite chapter! I'd like to eventually rearrange them into some sort of order...Suggestions are always welcome. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. The most depressing mantra ever created. Anything you recognize belongs to JKR.**

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number 4 Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. The Dursleys lived nice, neat, ordered lives, and they hated anything strange or out of the ordinary. Mr. Dursley was the owner of a drill company called Grunnings, it was a family company, and his father had owned the business before him. Mrs. Dursley was a housewife and would stay home and take care of their house and their disgustingly pampered son.

But, the Dursley's had a secret. Mr. Dursley had a cousin that was as far from normal, and as close to unordinary as it was possible to be. But he hadn't spoken to him in quite a long time. Actually, Mr. Dursley had never really spoken to him at all during his childhood either. They did used to live in the same house, but Mr. Dursley had always made sure that they were as far away from each other as possible, except, of course, when he wanted to beat him up. But the days when Dudley Dursley could beat up his cousin had long since vanished. It's not that he was _scared_, oh no, it was just…he liked the use of his limbs a little too much.

Dudley Dursley lived with his wife, Fern, and his son, Stuart, in the house that used to belong to his parents. After they retired, they had given their son the house as a wedding present. So, Dudley and his family had moved in, looking forward to the normal life, without his blasted cousin, that he could have never before achieved at Privet Drive. Nothing strange could happen to him _now_.

How very wrong he was.

For that night, after, after Stuart was put to sleep, and the Evening News had ended, and all of Privet Drive was asleep, very strange things began to happen.

ooo

A gray tabby cat slinked its way around the lampposts, sneaking in and out of the shadows, edging ever closer to number four. A small, stray, ginger colored dog gave a low, whining cry into the darkness. A tawny owl took flight and landed soundlessly in a nearby tree.

A little girl with long blonde pigtails and a button nose was sitting on the low garden wall of number four, scuffing her shoes on the sidewalk and twirling one of her pigtails around her finger pensively.

A tall man with mousy brown graying hair, very oddly dressed, stepped into the light of one of the streetlamps across from number four. He was wearing a long black traveling cloak and wore a watch with no numbers, only planets circling placidly. His scarred face was illuminated unappealingly in the lamplight and he walked with a slight limp.

The man pulled out what seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter, and very suddenly the streetlamp above him was instantly extinguished so that he was engulfed in the darkness of the night and was unable to be seen by anyone. The next lamp went out, and the tabby cat disappeared into the shadows. The light in front of number four went out, and the little blonde girl was lost from view. A fourth, a fifth, a sixth…and soon every light had been smothered. Even the light of the half moon above seemed to be flickering feebly.

The man walked across the street to sit on the garden wall next to the little girl, still scuffing her shoes on the sidewalk.

"Do you know how many are coming?" he asked her quietly.

The little girl just shrugged her tiny shoulders and continued to scuff her shoes.

The stray ginger dog made its way up to the garden wall as well. But there was no longer a dog in sight. Now there was a very tall man, red headed and pale, also dressed strangely, who sat down next to the other man.

"Hermione coming?" the first man asked the new one.

The second man nodded slowly, as if movement cost him a lot of effort. He then pointed up into the nearest tree.

The tawny owl flew down gracefully and landed next to the red headed man. And suddenly there was no longer an owl, but instead a petite, slim woman with copious quantities of bushy brown hair. She gave a small smile to the little blonde girl and the scarred man, and sat down next to the red headed man, taking his hand in hers as she did so.

After a few minutes of heavy silence the gray tabby cat began to creep around the garden wall and weaved itself in and out of the little girl's ankles. Then it leapt up next to the girl and transformed into a very strict looking older woman, with her hair in a tight bun, square spectacles and a grim expression across her lined face.

The newest addition to this odd quintet, the older woman began to speak in a brisk and stern voice, though there was a hint of sorrow in it, "Hagrid said he'd—"

"Oh no," the man with the scarred face interrupted.

"What is it Remus?" the little girl asked concernedly.

"Nymphadora, look up—," he said pointing up at the night sky, but shrunk at the severe look the little blonde girl was giving him. He sighed, "Honestly, your surname isn't even Tonks anymore. You would think that you would have finally given up…"

"Oh, Merlin, he didn't," said the woman with the bushy brown hair, leaving her place on the wall and standing up to get a better look.

"Well, it certainly looks as if he did," said the woman in the square spectacles.

"What?" interjected the red haired man, as if he had not been listening and was just catching wind of what was going on.

Remus gave a great sigh, "he's coming on Sirius's old flying motorbike."

"WHAT?!"

The others nodded dejectedly.

The group seemed to hold their breath as one as the revving of the engine became louder and the blinding headlight of the motorcycle grew brighter. The enormous motorbike, and the gargantuan man riding it, came to a halt outside number four. The large, wild man named Hagrid stepped off the bike, with a bundle of blankets in his arms, and headed over to the other five waiting on the garden wall.

The girl with the bushy brown hair was the nearest Hagrid. She reached out for the bundle of blankets and tenderly cradled them in her arms as she brought them over for the others to see.

They all stood in heavy silence to admire the beauty of the small child in the woman's arms.

"Are you sure we couldn't just—," began the little blonde girl who was craning her neck to see.

"Certainly not," responded the stern looking older woman. "This situation is no different from the one we encountered twenty years ago. This is for the best." She said the last sentence with a firmness that conveyed plainly that she did not at all think that the statement was true.

After that no one spoke, just watched the child they knew they would not be allowed to see grow up, to laugh with, to give birthday presents. This new loss washed over the group with a wave of grief. There had been so many losses in these last few hours. But there was still hope.

Inside, wrapped tightly in the sea of blankets, was a small little girl. She had the vivid red hair of her mother and beyond her half opened eyelids was the unmistakable emerald green of her father. And on her forehead, partially covered by curly wisps of red hair, was a lightning bolt scar.


	8. Scars of the Heart

**A/N: I'm a little behind on updates. I'll probably stay a little behind for a while, I'm running out of ideas (hint hint: please review with suggestions). This is an idea I came up with after writing the last two chapters, and is written in Ginny's pov. Happy reading and please review!!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. How depressing.**

Sometimes, when I'm alone, I'll cry. I won't cry in front of people, or when there are people in close proximity. I feel that crying is a very private thing, for me anyway. Maybe it's because I don't like people to know that I'm vulnerable. Maybe it's because I know that nobody else knows what I'm going through. I hate it when someone will come over to you, all sympathetic, like they understand, and ask you how you are. Because they don't understand. They don't understand even a fraction of what I'm going through. So I only cry alone, and I leave myself to stew in my own emotions and tears.

Ron is the only person I'll let see me cry. Not Hermione, not Mum, not Dad, not Bill, not Charlie, not Fred or George, only Ron. Because he, at least, knows something of what I'm going through. And sometimes, when I really can't hold myself together, I'll go find him, and he'll hold me and comfort me and just let me cry, and sometimes he'll cry too. I think that he can't cry alone. I think that sometimes I remind him of everything we lost that day. But I hate to see him cry. I hate to think that I make him cry. He's my big brother, he's supposed to protect me; he's not supposed to cry. So sometimes, if it's nighttime, or if it's quiet, and we're crying together, I'll take his hand and put it over my heart. And he'll trace my scar and we'll listen to my heart beat, and somehow, that always makes everything better.

My scar. I don't usually think of it like that. I usually think of it as his scar. But I guess it's mine now, though I don't think I'll ever be able to get used to that. I haven't told many people about it. Ron knows, and so does Hermione, but that's it. My mother doesn't even know. But I feel that it's a private thing, almost like crying. And I know that if I told people about it, I'd just get more of those understanding looks that aren't understanding at all. Because you can't understand if you weren't there when it happened, if you weren't there to watch him fall, if you weren't there to experience the fear. But I was there, and I saw it all and I heard it all and I felt it all. And I was so scared I thought I would simply collapse from the strain of it all. But he, Harry, my Harry, my hero, he knew what to do. He always knew what to do. He always had that instinct that knew exactly how to protect me. Maybe that was the same instinct that taught him how to appreciate the value of a life, and go to any lengths to save one. And he saved me. Just like the hero saves the damsel in distress. He saved me. He sacrificed himself for me. Jumped in front of me, just like that, and he was gone. I didn't even get to say goodbye.

That was the last time I cried in front of other people, when he died. I just cried and cried and cried, the flow only increasing with the taunts of Lord Voldemort. Because as he taunted me, I felt the gaping hole in my chest grow larger and larger, his malevolent jubilation at killing my Harry, my hero, was fueling my anger and sadness. I felt as if there was no way I would ever be able to stop crying.

Lord Voldemort kept taunting as I screamed and sobbed with anguish. And he laughed at me. And I couldn't believe it. I couldn't fathom that somebody could achieve pleasure from killing. So I kept crying. I felt like I cried in front of Lord Voldemort for hours and hours, possibly days. I cried for anything and everything I could think of, for Harry, for Voldemort's heartless soul, for my family, for my brothers, for Ron, for Hermione, for those lost in the war, for those still fighting, for myself…

But Lord Voldemort never put a stop to it. He just let me cry. And Ron told me later, much later, when I decided I wanted to talk about what happened, that Voldemort seemed as if he hadn't known what was happening, as if he had never seen somebody cry as persistently, or as if he had never seen anybody cry at all, as if he was entranced by my tears.

But after what seemed like forever, Lord Voldemort must have decided that I was just crying for the sake of crying and taking away from his glory of his triumph over Harry Potter. And that was when he decided to kill me.

I only remember a split second of it in slow motion. The flashing of red eyes as I watched Lord Voldemort raise his wand, the same wand that had just taken the life of someone that I thought was invincible. And he pointed it right at my heart. The image of Voldemort's long fingered hand clenched around the wand, inches from my chest. I could audibly hear my heart hammering, knowing full well that in a few seconds the vicious beating would stop forever. He said that anyone that Harry Potter felt was worth saving was not fit to live. And in that moment I felt contaminated, contaminated with undeserving life, given to me by someone much more superior than I consider myself to be. So he killed me, or rather, he tried. He had already killed part of me with Harry. But even in death, Harry Potter thwarted him. He sacrificed himself for me, and his love for me and mine for him caused Lord Voldemort's curse to backfire, just as it did Halloween night seventeen years ago…

Sometimes I feel as if I'll never forgive myself for that. The fact that Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, the hero, gave his life to poor, little Ginny Weasley who has nothing special to offer. But maybe I did have something special to offer. We shared something special, and together we defeated Lord Voldemort. But I can't cry forever. I'll move on, I know I will. But Harry will always be with me, in my heartbeat, and in the lightning bolt scar now etched, not across his forehead, but over my heart.

ooo

I'm wrapped in Ron's strong embrace. I'm finished crying, but he's holding me, making sure that he won't lose me. We're both listening to my heart beat. Just listening. Because it's not just my heart any longer. It's a reassuring sound really, my heart. It reminds us that Harry didn't give his life for nothing; he gave it for me, for the defeat of Voldemort, for the safety of the world. But sometimes, as the ones that knew him best, it's easy for us to forget that. Ron buries his head in my shoulder and I feel a tear on my skin. I reach for his hand, and I guide it upwards, and together we feel the steady pulse. And we fell asleep like that, with our hands together, tracing my – no, his scar.


	9. To Be Immortal

**A/N: I'm still a little behind on updates. This chapter isn't my favorite, but I always thought that something along the lines of this chat between Voldemort and Harry would occur at some point. Please review your favorite chapter. Suggestions are always welcome. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. What a pity.**

It had all come down to this one moment. The moment of truth. The moment of destiny. The moment that would decide it all.

After the destruction of all of the Horcruxes, Harry Potter had finally come face to face with Lord Voldemort himself, not knowing whether he will survive the wrath, but knowing that whatever happened, Lord Voldemort would be mortal.

ooo

"So, you seek to kill me, Harry Potter?" Lord Voldemort asked maliciously.

"Yes," responded Harry through clenched teeth, watching Voldemort pacing mercilessly with his long black cloak billowing unevenly behind him, almost a reflection of the broken soul within.

"You will never kill me, Harry Potter. I have conquered death, as I shall conquer you. I am immortal. I will live for all eternity."

"There are other ways to be immortal!" Harry shouted at him.

"Excuse me?" Voldemort breathed as he stepped gently closer.

"You have gone to such lengths to escape death. You killed, you stole, you lied, you cheated. And all for what? So that you could continue living this meager existence forever? Is that really what you consider being immortal? Is it really worth it?"

"Death is the ultimate human weakness. I shall never succumb to it," Voldemort paused giving the feeling of finality, but continued, "And you are right, I have gone to great lengths to overcome it. Greater than any other wizard ever to have lived. And I will live forever. Unlike you, Harry Potter. You shall die tonight, at my hand," he said as he advanced slowly, his red eyes glinting hungrily.

"You have no idea what being immortal really means. Sure! You can escape death. But that doesn't mean you'll be immortal!" Harry yelled in response

"What are you talking about? You have no idea what you are talking about. You do not know the ways in which I—"

"Oh, I know everything you've done to triumph over death. What you don't realize is that you don't need to escape death in order to be immortal!"

Lord Voldemort eyed Harry with an expression of intense fury, mingled with bewilderment and disbelief.

"There are other ways to be immortal," Harry said in a low voice.

Lord Voldemort's expression was greedy now.

Harry laughed, "But you could never achieve them. You will never be immortal.

"I am immortal," Lord Voldemort hissed.

"No, you're not," Harry answered with the air of correcting a common falsehood, "Because you never really know if you are immortal until you die."

"But that would defeat the whole purpose," Voldemort snapped in an annoyed tone.

"Quite the contrary. You see Voldemort, one of your greatest weaknesses is that you do not understand that immortality doesn't mean escaping death. Immortality occurs when, even after someone has died, they continue living."

"That is impossible," Voldemort spat.

"It's not. It happens through love."

Voldemort laughed, "Love is nothing."

"Love is everything. With love, you are always remembered. You do not need to just keep living, to put all of your knowledge and power and will into creating a realm for yourself in which death is impossible. Death is a part of life. Without death, there can be no life, there can be no immortality."

Voldemort laughed quietly, "Do you think you are immortal, Harry Potter?"

They were locked in a gaze with each other, each trying desperately to understand the other.

"Harry Potter, you are not immortal. I am going to kill you."

"KILL ME THEN!" Harry shouted, "You don't understand! It doesn't matter! Whether or not you kill me, there are people that _love_ me. People that would _care_. If you were to die there would be parties, celebrations, singing and dancing and merriment! It already happened once, and people are eager for it to happen again. But if you kill me, my memory would still go on. There'd be people who would carry me with them, people that would never forget!"

"So you say that people would _miss_ you? Because people _love _you? That is an idealized hallucination of the world."

"It is not a hallucination. It's real. It's my world."

"Your world is imaginary."

"Just because you could never have the world that I have doesn't make it imaginary."

There was a long pause. Each holding his own and defending his belief.

"I'm going to kill you, Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort spoke at last.

"I cannot die."

Voldemort laughed, "I am going to kill you."

"It won't matter. I'll still live. You may have tried to escape death, but you will never escape me."

"Do you think you are going to kill me?"

"I am going to kill you."

An evil grin spread itself across Lord Voldemort's twisted face.

There were two shouts of the same incantation. Two blinding flashes of bright green light. Two bodies falling to the ground.

ooo

The two men were dead. However, each was gone in different respects. Lord Voldemort was never spoken of again, only remembered with resentment and fear. But Harry Potter was remembered and celebrated and loved, even in death. Lord Voldemort was a faceless evil wizard, gone and never to be spoken of again. But Harry Potter, Harry Potter was forever spoken and thought of with the greatest respect and honor and love, instilled in every memory as the hero with the lightning bolt scar.


	10. Alone

**A/N: This one is in Harry's POV after killing Voldemort in the final battle. It's kind of what I pictured happening to him if he actually does wind up killing Voldemort with the Killing Curse. I got a little carried away with it, it's pretty long. Hope you like it. Review please.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. But I'd be the first on line if J.K. Rowling was selling. Or rather, giving away, as I also do not have 800 billion dollars or anything remotely close to that amount of money.**

A murderer. That's what he was. A cold-blooded, merciless murderer. He had become ruthless and cruel and unfeeling and he wasn't sure if he could ever go back to being the way he was before. He had changed. He hadn't been a murderer before. He had been good, and fair, and loving. But, had he really? Or deep down, had he always been a murderer?

He had been so caught up in the planning, so indomitable and obstinate, so fixed on the final step, that he hadn't realized what he was doing along the way, who he was becoming, what he was losing. And now that he had looked back upon that time, he now understood that he was a murderer long before the incantation left his lips and that blinding jet of green light made contact with its target.

He had murdered himself, really. Not in the literal way, but metaphorically. He hadn't murdered his body, but he'd murdered his soul. Tore it viciously in half without a thought to what he was doing. Everything that he had ever stood for, that he had ever believed in, had changed as the murder inched ever closer, and sealed itself when the spell made contact. He cut himself off from the world, from the people he loved, from the people who loved him. He had convinced himself that he had to do it alone. So he had distanced himself from his friends, his family. He didn't have either of those any longer, because he kept them away, even after the deed was done. He couldn't have anything else that he held dear seized from his grasp. He hadn't foreseen that by making himself untouchable, distanced, and inaccessible that he would endanger himself even more.

But there was no going back. What was done was done. And now he just had to live with his actions. They could never be erased. They would always hang over him like some giant something teetering on the edge, waiting to plummet and crush him even further into the ground. The only conclusion was to retreat even further, trying to escape from the pain and the sorrow. But no matter how persistently he attempted to withdraw there was always someone or something that tried to hold on to him.

He didn't really understand why they tried so desperately to cling to him. He was, after all, a murderer. His soul was scarred and broken. He didn't deserve them, and they deserved much better than him. But they seemed to want him, the people who used to be his friends and the ones that he used to consider his family. They never gave up, never left him alone.

Alone. He was always alone. And being with people just made the feeling seem more pronounced. So he preferred to do things on his own. Without company. Without conversation or laughter. Because he didn't deserve any of those things any longer. But no matter where he was, no matter what he was doing, no matter how far away he felt, someone or something would always creep up unexpectedly behind him and remind him of what his life used to be. A glimpse of vivid red hair anywhere on the streets, a girl reading a book, a shaggy black dog, an old man with a long white beard, the list went on and on. And sometimes he felt as if they were following him. Whenever he tried to block them out, tried not to see anything on that long list of what reminded him of his past, more of them would surface. Something insignificant that others wouldn't give a thought to. They would be everywhere. He couldn't escape them.

It wasn't only the negligible reminders that followed him, but the larger ones as well, the real ones. The people, the ones he used to know, the ones he used to love, they would follow him. He was always one step ahead of them, never wanting to be caught, but always being chased. They never left him alone. They thought that if they tried hard enough, they would get him back. But he knew that who they wanted had disappeared. The raven hair, the emerald eyes, the lightning scar, they were all still there. But the person they wanted was missing. He had melted and fused into someone different. Someone that nobody wanted. A murderer.

They hadn't caught him yet. He was determined not to be caught. He didn't want to see their faces. He didn't want to hear their voices. Both were evil reminders of the person he used to be. He hadn't seen nor heard anyone since the murder. But he knew they were following him. He felt them.

ooo

He was walking along a dark, narrow London alleyway. It was early in the morning. The sun hadn't risen yet. The sky was still midnight black. But whether it was two o'clock or five he did not know. There weren't any street lights, but all he could see was the sidewalk shining in a patch of moonlight up ahead.

It had been one of those days when everyone and everything seemed to be following him. So he just got up and left. He had been walking around the streets of London for at least a couple of hours now. He had no plan to stop. He would just keep going until he couldn't take another step. That appeared to be the route he took for everything else in his life now too. Just keep going until you can't go any longer, and then collapse, letting the world collapse around you. Then pick yourself up and repeat the process.

So he walked. On and on and on. And he collapsed. He didn't even know where he was. A park bench. With his head in his hands. The light breeze playing gently across the parts of his face not obstructed by his fingers. He didn't know if there was anyone around. He was alone. He felt alone.

But he wasn't. He felt someone following him. But he was too exhausted to care. He had been running. He never stopped running. And now he was tired. He wanted to rest, just stop the world for a few seconds. At the moment, he didn't care if they found him. Let them find him. Let them see that he had changed. Let them finally stop. Let them finally leave him alone.

He kept his eyes closed and hidden behind his fingers. He knew exactly who had found him. He knew all along that they would be the ones to finally catch him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see them yet. Seeing their faces would remind him of the man he used to be. He had been running from things like that for a long time. He wasn't sure if he was ready to confront what he had been so keen to leave behind.

He felt a strong, soothing hand on his back. A man. Someone tenderly took his hands from his face and held them in their own. A woman. His eyes were still closed. He couldn't look at them. He could feel something flooding back into his body, a warm happiness. But this couldn't happen. He couldn't let this happen. But he couldn't stop it either.

He opened his eyes. A woman with deep brown eyes and bushy brown hair. The hair that had haunted him. He'd seen it everywhere. The woman was gazing at him with tears in her eyes. She was kneeling on the ground in front of him clasping his hands in her own small, warm ones. She was crying now, tears spilling down onto her cheeks and nose. The woman noticed his eyes had opened. She let go of his hands and a smile spread slowly across her face, lighting up her eyes. She threw herself onto him, embracing him with such force he was nearly knocked backwards.

But he didn't return the embrace. He was holding himself back. He wanted to, but he wouldn't allow himself to. He wasn't this person anymore.

She pulled away. She didn't seem to notice the internal war going on inside his head. She took his face in her hands and started to cry and laugh at the same time. She let go of him.

He turned his head sideways to the owner of the hand on his back. A tall man with freckles and vivid red hair. The hair that he'd seen everywhere. The best friend of the man he used to be. Ron embraced him as well, though without the force of Hermione. He'd forgotten how much he'd missed Ron. No—no, he couldn't miss him anymore. He had to let go of them. He had to be alone.

"Harry," Hermione began, "We've missed you so much."

"I…I…"

She waited.

"Oh Harry," she said with a shadow of horror crossing her face, "Please say you've missed us too...please…"

He didn't say anything.

"Harry?"

He stayed silent.

"Harry!" she shouted as she shook his shoulders. He felt all his insides rattle around as if they were no longer attached to his body. A small part of him wanted to tell them everything, wanted to embrace them, and laugh with them. But the rest of him was suppressing that other part. He was telling himself to show no emotion. He was telling himself that he wanted to be left alone. But that small part of him was begging to be let free. He wouldn't let it.

"What's the matter with you?" Ron asked quietly, concernedly.

"I—I can't do this."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide, uncomprehending.

"I'm not the same person I used to be! I'm different! I don't even know who that person _was_ anymore. I can't even remember_ being_ him. Everything's different now. Nothing will ever be the same. I'm not the same. We're not the same. Nothing is the same. And nothing will ever go back to being that way ever again. So I'm just starting over. Alone. I need to do it by myself."

"Change doesn't mean you need to start all over, Harry," Hermione said gently.

"It does for me."

"Harry, you can't have changed that much," Ron said softly. "We're your best friends. We're your family."

"I DON'T HAVE A FAMILY!" he shouted, "I lost everything. I wasn't about to lose you two as well."

"Well, you have lost us!" Hermione said sharply.

He looked at her doubtfully.

"You pushed us away Harry! And if we hadn't been so set on finding you, on getting you back, you would have lost us for good. Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you doing this to us?" she asked sadly.

"I…I'm…I'm a murderer."

"Harry, you're not a murderer," Ron said.

"I am."

"Harry?" Hermione said looking straight into his eyes. He turned away. "Harry look at me." He obliged. "Harry," she began, her eyes continuing to bore into his own, "You are not a murderer. You did what you had to do. Sometimes you have to do dark things to let the light win. There was no other way Harry. There was nothing else you could do. You are not a murderer."

And with her words the small piece of him that had been restrained inside him for so long rose to the surface. His felt his soul stitch itself back together. It didn't matter if he deserved them or even if they deserved each other. He had missed them so much. They sat together on the bench, crying silently in each others arms, for a long time. The sun had risen before anyone said anything at all.

"I saw you two everywhere," Harry said in a hoarse voice. "Red hair, girls reading books, freckles, everywhere."

"We're here now. We're not going anywhere," Hermione told him.

"We made a promise to you a long time ago, mate. We weren't going to leave you alone, we still aren't," Ron continued.

Harry smiled. Maybe they were right. Maybe change didn't have to mean starting over. Maybe change does indeed have to mean starting over. But whether or not he was beginning again, he was going wherever he was headed with his best friends. He was still the same person. He was older, wiser, more experienced, but still the same person. He had changed. But change did not mean becoming someone else. He was still here, still the same, the same person, the same messy black hair, the same bright green eyes, and the same lightning bolt scar.


	11. The Second Boy Who Lived

**A/N: This one's a shorty. Nice change after the many other chapters before this one that go on for pages and pages. This is just something that one of my friends swears is going to happen in the end. Please, please review, I can't keep coming up with all these ideas!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Although if I refrained from paying ten dollars a ticket to see the new movie twenty gazillion times I could probably save up enough money to buy him.**

There used to be just "The Boy Who Lived". But now, if you refer to such a person you are likely to be asked just which one you are talking about. You see, there is no longer just one boy who lived.

Now there are two. Two boys who survived the would-be fatal Killing Curse of Lord Voldemort. Each bears an identical lightning bolt scar. Though one of these scars is sixteen years old, the other is a recent acquisition.

One of these boys is, of course, Harry Potter. The one known and recognized for the infamous scar of which I speak. But the other boy is one that you probably have not heard of before, who goes by the name of Neville Longbottom.

Those of you with an excellent memory, or those who simply zealously absorb every fact about these boy wizards, know that there was a prophecy made a very long time ago, seventeen years to be more precise, involving Lord Voldemort and one of two infant boy wizards. One was Harry Potter, the other Neville Longbottom. Many thought that Harry Potter was indeed the boy that the prophecy was referring to, as Lord Voldemort chose him to attack. But in reality, Lord Voldemort miscalculated. He made the fatal mistake of acting on the prophecy, when he should have waited until things were more apparent. But, alas, Lord Voldemort did not know of the entire prophecy. So he chose wrongly.

All he knew of the prophecy was that the boy with the power to destroy him would be born at the end of the seventh month of the year to parents who had defied him three times. He did not know that by attacking he would mark the young boy as his equal, or give to him the powers needed to destroy him. So he chose to first attack the boy which he saw as the biggest threat.

By attacking Harry Potter, Lord Voldemort knew he had created his own enemy. But by disappearing and leaving his followers the impression that he had intended to kill both boy wizards, he created an enemy he did not yet know of. His followers continued with his plan ever after his disappearance, creating another powerful enemy for him, one which he did not know the existence of.

This unknown nemesis had not been considered by Lord Voldemort throughout the planning process for the final attack, which ultimately led to his downfall. With Harry Potter nearly dead, dying slowly but still holding tightly to life, and Lord Voldemort slowly looming closer, it was Neville Longbottom who jumped in front of the jet of green light and received the blow that ought to have been fatal.

Instead the curse rebounded and left him with a new identity, the Second Boy Who Lived, as well as with the mark of a hero, a lightning bolt scar.


	12. More Than a Scar

**A/N: Number twelve! This one's a Ron POV. Very R/Hr. Happy reading, PLEASE review! **

**Disclaimer: I do in fact own Harry Potter. Mwhahahahaha...Psh, yeah right. If only. Everything belongs to JKR.**

The day was cool and stagnant, lacking any breeze at all, with a white sky through which only small patches of beautiful, dazzling blue poked feebly. The sun was hidden behind the clouds so well that its position could not be determined. Perfect Quidditch conditions, Ron thought bitterly, as the knot in his stomach that had been suppressed for so long rose to his throat, where he knew it would remain for a while.

He walked up the grassy slope and through the rows of headstones he knew so well. He didn't even have to pause or think to know where he was going, it had become an instinct. He felt as if his feet were detached from his body, simply leading the way, with no feeling at all, just a subtle determination. It allowed his mind to wander freely, be free from his mechanical body for a few minutes, to think, and to not be held down.

He always came here whenever he needed to think, or when he was sad, or afraid, or lonely, or when he fought with Hermione, or whenever he just needed a friend. Today he came for all of those reasons.

Today was Harry's birthday. And that wasn't all. That morning he had proposed to Hermione. He didn't know what had possessed him to do it. Now that he thought about it, it seemed like a stupid thing to do anyway…especially today. But he had had that ring for so long, since before Harry…well for a very, very long time. He had been planning on giving it to her right after Lord Voldemort was defeated; Harry had talked him into that plan, so that there would be something wonderful to look forward to after such a long period of time consisting of nothing but fear and danger. But the festivities had been punctured by the death of the greatest man Ron had ever known, his best friend.

So he hadn't proposed to her that night, like Harry had wanted him to. It had just seemed inappropriate, too soon, too fast, too selfish. He hadn't felt that he could actually do it properly either, he could barely hold himself together that night. Neither could she. He had decided that he would wait. What he was waiting for he really had no idea. But he couldn't do it then, not when they were both so miserable and longing for someone who would no longer make their worlds light up.

He didn't stop thinking until he realized that he was now standing in front of his destination. His feet had stopped without his notice. He sat down on the dewy grass, leaning against the headstone. He needed his best friend right now. He couldn't sort all this out on his own.

Maybe he should have proposed to her that night. It was what Harry had wanted. It would have made the loss a little less hard on them all. But somehow, that night he had thought it would be an insult to the memory of his best friend to take away from the memories of Harry and focus on himself. He didn't know what he should think anymore. Whenever he had needed to talk to someone, he had always gone to Harry. And now Harry wasn't here anymore, and he didn't know who or where to turn to. He felt lost and lonely, like a stray dog crying in the night.

It had been over a month since that night when they had lost Harry. It still seemed as if it was still happening, as if his entire existence from that moment on had spanned only one night, an endless night of sunrises and sunsets. And this morning, the day when Harry should have turned eighteen, Ron had proposed to her. Hermione had gotten angry with him. She told him that he was being insensitive and selfish. There had been a large shouting match, with the ring throw carelessly on the kitchen table glinting in the morning sun as their rage with each other continued to climb.

That had been the first real row they had with each other since Harry's death. They used to fight all the time, big rows, small ones, ones that lasted for days, but after the events of that night it appeared as if they had forgotten about all that. But seeing that ring had reminded them both of someone who ought to have witnessed the event in the kitchen that morning.

In truth he couldn't imagine facing his own wedding without Harry by his side. He had already asked him to be his best man, before he had even given a thought as to when he would ask Hermione. Of course he had agreed. He had been so excited about it. Just thinking of his expression when Ron had asked him made his heart feel light with happiness and heavy enough to sink below his navel at the same time.

He didn't know what to do anymore. He needed a best friend. He needed his best friend. He needed Harry. But he didn't have him anymore. He missed him a lot. Not a day went by when he didn't think about him and remember everything they went through together, or when he didn't think of how his life would be different if things had taken another course.

They had been hard, these last few weeks. All anyone could talk about was the death of Harry Potter. And whenever the topic came up all everyone ever talked about was his fucking _scar_. Ron_ hated_ it. There wasn't any mention of what kind of person he was, or the things he liked to do, or the people he loved. Didn't they realize that there was more to the man than the stupid, lightning bolt scar? Didn't they realize that the only reason he had managed to defeat Voldemort was because of his talents, and his skills, and with help from his friends, and not because of a _scar_? Ron had learned to stop looking at the scar. It didn't mean anything to him anymore. It was just another characteristic that was recognized as belonging to his best friend, along with the glasses, green eyes and incurably messy black hair.

He was wrenched from his thoughts by the sound of soft footsteps approaching. He knew at once who the person was, even before he looked up to see. Hermione was ambling slowly towards him, playing absentmindedly with her fingers with her head down and her feet dragging, her hair bushier than he had ever seen it before.

She too stopped in front of the gravestone as if her feet were moving of their own accord, and only then did she seem to notice Ron. She did not look remotely shocked to find him there, more resigned to the fact that he was.

"I thought you'd come eventually," Ron said to her softly.

Hermione gave a weak smile through the tears that had already sprung from her eyes. She dropped gracelessly to the ground next to Ron, almost as if she were collapsing. But he knew she wasn't, she just couldn't hold herself together at the moment; she needed a little bit of help. He let her cry on his shoulder, holding her all the while and promising to never let go. After a long time he took her hands from her sides and held them in his own much larger ones. Their fingers were intertwined. Ron's finger felt something hard; something that he knew had not been there before. He looked down. The ring that had been thrown to the side this morning was now placed stunningly around her left ring finger.

Ron smiled and gave a tearful chuckle in spit of himself and embraced her tightly. He had never felt so content in her arms and she had never felt so safe.

She pulled away reluctantly and looked at Ron worriedly.

"There won't be a best man, will there?"

Ron shook his head sorrowfully.

Hermione turned around to face the headstone and said delicately, with her words directed at the name engraved on its face, "You'd be the best man, you know. And we won't have anyone else. Wouldn't even think of it. There's no one else we want. You're the man, Harry, only you. You haven't left us, I know it."

Ron put his arm consolingly around his fiancée and together they cried for the one they lost. They cried for the man, for the friend, for the hero. But not for the lightning bolt scar.


	13. Flickering Flame

**A/N: This is a Ginny POV, which is my favorite if you haven't noticed, about what she would be going through if the entire trio died after defeating Voldemort. I want twenty stories by Friday, but I only have three more planned, so suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Please, please review!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I just play around in JKR's world. It all belongs to her. If only I had her brilliant imagination...**

I used to have a perfect life. Well, as close to perfect as anyone could wish for. I had a big family that I loved, and that loved me. I had brothers to play with and protect me. I had a dad and a mom, and even though we weren't rich, we were happy. I had a best friend. I had a boyfriend. I had everything a girl could ever wish for. But one person slowly tore everything apart.

Lord Voldemort. He destroyed my perfect world. And he started with me. That was when I realized that my perfect life was over, after he used me. I came to terms with the fact that after that experience, I would never be the same again. I was just a puppet for him, just another person to possess and control. And I never felt as ashamed of myself as when I discovered what was happening to me, what I was allowing him to do to me. My first year at school was ripped from me, and I remember it in only haphazard puzzle pieces that never fit together correctly. I had a lot of time to discover what was going on though. I had time to cope, time to try to figure out a plan, time to fight.

They weren't granted any of that precious time that I was. They didn't have time to think or to fight. At least I don't think so. They were just there, and then gone. My brother, my best friend, and the love of my life, all gone before I even had a chance to say goodbye. It was the most I ever cried, the day I realized that Ron would never give me one of his bone-breaking hugs, or that I would never see Hermione's hair give off that electric static that it did when she was excited, or that I would never again kiss Harry, or run to greet him as he made his way over the threshold of the house. At first I refused to believe it. I didn't see how it could be possible. They were all so young, and bright, with wonderful futures ahead of them. How could it be true? And for a long time I continued life as usual without them, barely dwelling on their memories, because I had convinced myself so thoroughly that they would be coming back at any moment. But soon that feeling of ignorance began to wear off. I began to miss them. I missed them so terribly that sometimes I felt as if I would faint from the dizziness the feeling gave me.

Those three, they had always been my light in the darkness. I always knew that when times became unbearable, they would be the flame that would shine through, give hope, radiate light to the ones who needed it. Usually the one who needed it was me. I'm not ashamed of that. I needed them. I still need them. And I don't think that being dependent on other people is anything to be ashamed of. To me it just means that sometimes you aren't quite strong enough to hold the weight the world has placed on your shoulders. Harry told me that. He told me that he never felt guilty, needing me, or Ron, or Hermione. He told me that his weight was larger than anyone's, and there was no reason for him to think he was intended to carry it all on his own. He told me there was no reason for me to think that either. I believed him. And I still do.

I think I knew deep down that their flame, always bright and dancing, was beginning to flicker. I knew that they didn't have as much of a chance as they did when they started. I saw their hope beginning to dwindle. I never said anything though, because I didn't want to believe it. Or maybe I didn't say anything because I was so convinced that soon the flame would flare up once again. It never crossed my mind that the flame, that had sustained me for so long, would grow fainter and fainter, flickering, until Lord Voldemort blew it out with his final breath, and then it would be gone forever.

But the shadow of the presence of their light, however faint it had become, was still visible in the darkness. And I don't think that illusion will ever fade entirely. There will always be a place in the darkness where their flame once burned that will never be taken by anything else. Just as there will always be a place in my heart for my brother, Ron, the loyal friend and the strategist, my best friend, Hermione, the understanding and intelligent one, and the love of my life, Harry Potter, the noble hero and the Chosen One, the boy with the lightning bolt scar.


	14. Three, Two, One

**A/N: Just a sad little something. Harry's POV and his thoughts on the Golden Trio. This one doesn't end in scar, but it doesn't bother me much, it shouldn't bother you. Happy reading and PLEASE review!!! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I'm just a hopeless fangirl.**

Three. We were always three. We had always been three. I could never have imagined us as any other number. Sure, sometimes Ginny would join us, and sometimes Ron and I would go off on our own, but in the end, we were always three. Ever since that day when we knocked out the mountain troll in the girls' toilets, we were three from that day on…that seems like such a long time ago now. We'd been through so much together, everything. School, love, danger, heroism, we did everything together, experienced everything as one. I sometimes used to think of leaving them, of doing it on my own, but now I realize that I would never actually have gone through with it. I would never have left them. Because I needed them as much as they needed me. We were three: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. The Golden Trio.

But I guess the Golden Trio wasn't meant to be, wasn't meant to last. Things don't stay gold. Our gold turned to black. One of our three was lost. It was a shock to us all, I think. We didn't realize what we were doing. We thought that by having each other, we were shielding each other from harm. But our gold couldn't last. And it didn't. The Horcruxes claimed her life. We never thought it would happen to her. I saw her as invincible. Always the first to know exactly what it was we were dealing with and how to fix the problem. She couldn't fix the problem anymore. She was gone.

Two. We hadn't always been two. We were once, but only for a short while. Sure, we were best friends. Maybe we had always excluded her a bit. She was the smart one. She was the girl. But we hadn't realized how much of an influence she'd had on our lives, how much we'd loved her. Without her, things took much longer, things were much more confusing, things didn't flow the way they used to. And every scene passed by in a whirl of color first before it could be more closely examined for what it truly was. We were limited. But we did our best, for her. We tried to do what she used to, so that we might become complete again, even without her. But it was never the same. But we did what we could, and we did it for her. We made it through another Horcrux all on our own. There was only one more left. And we found it too. We destroyed it. But we paid a price.

I guess the team of Potter and Weasley wasn't meant to last either. Maybe it was always meant to be just me, alone. I didn't think I could go on, not after losing him too. I swore after Hermione that I wouldn't let it happen again. But it did. And I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for that. Because it was my fault. It was my quest. I'd always thought of leaving and going alone. But I never realized what I would actually have had to leave behind. I would have had to leave Ron and Hermione behind, willingly. The thought made me shiver. I was forced to go alone. But I know that had they been there, I would never have gone by myself.

One. I am one now. And I did it. I defeated him. I killed him. I vanquished him. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Because it was that man that left me alone. It wasn't my fault they were gone at all. It was his. And I took his life because he took mine. He took my life by taking my friends, my family. It's unfathomable to me that the Golden Trio has been whittled down to one. I thought that we were unbreakable. I thought that what we had would survive everything. Maybe it still has. Maybe it will survive death. I don't know yet. But I know that even though I'm one, I'll never be alone. I may be one. But I'm one of three. In my heart I'll always be a part of the Golden Trio.


	15. Bittersweet July

**A/N: This is the final chapter. I know I thought I would do twenty, but I thought that fifteen seemed more that sufficient. And also, I've been waiting to write this chapter since I began writing the first one. PLEASE REVIEW! I think I might be the only person to ever write a fifteen chapter story and not get one review. I'd love to know your favorite chapters and everything else. I hope you all have enjoyed. I certainly have. Hope you enjoy this final chapter. It's kind of a tribute to everything that Harry Potter has given to us over these last ten years, and I thought it would be a great way to end the collection. Happy reading. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

July the twenty-first. The day when wizards and witches all around the world will mourn and rejoice, cry tears of both happiness and sorrow. For the journey has finally ended.

All will celebrate the fall of Lord Voldemort. But the happiness has been punctured by a loss of immeasurable greatness. Harry Potter, our hero, our friend, has been lost.

He was a great man. He led a great life, even if his life did seem too short. He changed the world. And he will never be forgotten.

The memorial service was to take place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter's home. The place where everything started and the place where it all ended.

It was a gray Saturday morning with undecided weather. The morning was plagued with light drizzles, landing halfheartedly on the dewy grounds, followed by bursts of patches of bright sunlight, making the fallen rain sparkle dazzlingly. But the funeral was to take place outside, no matter what the weather finally decided to do. It was something that would not be questioned. It was what should be done.

So the admirers and friends of Harry Potter filed out onto the lush green grounds of Hogwarts School to sit in the rows and rows of chairs that had appeared to accommodate all of the people who wished to pay their respects. The weather remained unclear but was not paid the slightest bit of mind by those who came to honor Harry Potter. The chairs were filled almost instantly, there were witches and wizards everywhere, gazing at the tomb placed at the front.

But the startling amount of people didn't seem to faze three people sitting in the front row. They were very close to each other, but also seemed very far apart. These three people were Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

All three had witnessed the death of both their worst enemy and best friend. And to many, their behavior may have seemed strange, frivolous, and inappropriate. For each was crying tears that never seemed to end, but through the infinite tears a beaming smile could be seen plastered across their faces, which seemed as if it would never go away. They had lost their friend. But the man who had taken him, who had made their life unbearable, was gone as well. The journey of a lifetime was over. But the memories would always remain. A bittersweet July.

ooo

Ron Weasley was as undecided as the weather. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So he did both.

As he stared at the tomb in front of him he knew that he would never again see his best friend. Harry Potter was his best friend. There was no one else. They had been through so much together. And through everything, the good and the bad, he had always been there. Harry had been the only constant thing in Ron's ever- changing life, always there to talk, to have fun with, to experience something new with.

Harry Potter was his best friend. Nothing would ever change that. It didn't matter that he would no longer be there. He would always be there in Ron's memory.

Ron had been through so much with Harry, nearly getting killed so many times. And now it had finally happened. His best friend was gone. The story was over. There was no going back. The journey was over.

Yes, the journey was over. But so many extraordinary things had happened along the way.

ooo

Ginny Weasley was crying, more accurately, she was sobbing her heart out. It was over. Sometimes people felt relieved when they heard that. She felt broken. She felt so sad about it that there was no way to express her grief except to just allow the tears to keep coming.

She watched the tomb swim in and out of her bleary, watery vision. Harry Potter, her best friend, the love of her life, her hero, she would never see him again. She thought that without him, it would be impossible for her to go on. Harry Potter had been her adventure. Whenever life was dull, or undecided, he would leap into her life, stirring up everything and making life worthwhile again. She thought he could do anything. She used to love to just watch him. Everything he did had seemed exciting. She was drawn to him.

But now the adventure was over. There would be no more quests to destroy dark magical objects, no more rescue missions, no more kisses in the Gryffindor Common Room. But she had done all of those things before hadn't she? Yes. But she always wanted more. She could never ever get enough of Harry Potter.

But the adventure would never leave her memory. And the time they had together would always be ready to be relived at the first thought. Always there. The memories would never go away.

And maybe her adventures were indeed over. Her time had finished, she had had enough of them to last much more than a lifetime.

ooo

Hermione Granger was beaming, smiling ear to ear and nothing, not even being constantly reminded of the death of her best friend in the entire world, could wipe that grin off of her face.

The sky changed suddenly. The light gray sky began to change slowly to dark, and a low rumble of thunder sounded somewhere in the distance. Rain began to come down, intermittently at first, but then hard and fast. The sky had finally decided to cry for the loss of one of the greatest men to have ever lived. But Hermione Granger smiled on.

Harry Potter, well he'd been everything to her. Her life, and she wasn't sorry to admit it, had revolved around him. She knew that he'd never have admitted it though. Harry Potter had been her journey from childhood to adulthood. He was an adventure all his own. Just knowing him had changed her. She shuttered to think how empty her life would be if she were not sitting, rain soaked but beaming, in this chair right now.

When she met him she had been so different than she is today. Eleven. Bossy. Too intelligent for her own good. But Harry had changed that. In his presence, she had blossomed. She learned through experiences, not through books. They grew up together. Now she was a woman. Eighteen. Bright. Accomplished.

With his death had been the death of her childhood. With his death, it had seemed to her that a very large part of her life had ended. Now she had to start anew, begin a new chapter. Or possibly, begin a whole new book.

She didn't know why she always compared her life to books. Maybe it was because it was something that she was familiar with. But she always saw her life, her memories, her future, as books. Her future, those were the empty books waiting patiently to be written in. Her memories of Harry, seven wonderful years that she wouldn't trade for anything, they were the pride and joy of her collection. They had beautiful covers and beautiful stories, always waiting, patiently, expectantly, invitingly, to be taken off her shelf and reread, relived. But no matter how many books would eventually accumulate on the shelves of her life, there were seven that she knew would be read and reread more than any of the others combined, seven that would always stand out from the rest. The ending was bittersweet. The journey was over. But the memories would last forever, memories of the Boy Who Lived, memories of the boy who lived on in her heart, her friend, her adventure, her hero, Harry Potter, the boy with the lightning bolt scar.


End file.
